


wintermarch blues

by ghoulfuckery (PomTheHobbit)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, anders and fenris are capable of being in the same room without arguing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomTheHobbit/pseuds/ghoulfuckery
Summary: “Pssh.” Hawke waves her hand dismissively in his direction. “What’s a bit of frostbite when you’ve snow to play in? Much more fun than snain.”“People die, Hawke.”“An unimportant detail.”
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	wintermarch blues

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt 'winter'

“I’ve decided that I have to leave Kirkwall,” Hawke says despondently, flopping onto the chair beside Varric. “I can’t live my life like this anymore.”

“Like what?” 

On the other side of the table, playing an obscure Tevene card game, Isabela and Fenris look over, and the former puts down her cards. Anders briefly looks up from his writing, and visibly makes the choice to not get involved in Hawke’s bemoaning. It won’t last, but Varric can’t fault him for trying. 

With a dramatic sigh, she sits up straight. “It’s a terrible, awful thing. Just awful. I know Kirkwall is bad, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad. If I’d known, I’d never have come here.” She sniffles. Slumping against Varric, she looks distraught, and he gives her a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“What could be worse than—” Fenris gestures outside, where sleet patters against the windows of the Amell estate. Varric is entirely sure someone is getting mugged as they speak. 

“Many things,” Isabela says. “The soup of the day at the Hanged Man, the ale at the Hanged Man, the beds at the Hanged Man—” She counts them off on her fingers. Fenris snorts.

“True enough, but I don’t think that’s what Hawke is talking about.”

The woman in question shakes her head. “It’s even worse.”

“How can it be _worse_ than the Hanged Man’s soup?” Anders interjects, and he looks up from his writing, his previous choice of being uninvolved thrown out the window. 

Hawke makes a face. “Hm, you’ve got a point. It’s _almost_ as bad.”

“Don’t keep us waiting then. What’s wrong?” By now, Anders has set his pen down, and Fenris has looked away from his cards. Isabela peeks over at them and winks at Varric when he raises a single eyebrow. She picks up her cards again, but there's a familiar glint in her eyes.

“It’s—” Hawke sniffles again. “There’s no _snow._ ”

Silence follows her words.

“There’s no… snow?” Fenris says, baffled, and Varric wants to applaud the man for being brave enough to break what had been at least seven solid seconds of silence. 

“There’s no snow,” Hawke repeats sadly.

“Now, maybe I’m missing something,” says Isabela, “but isn’t that a good thing?”

Hawke looks indignant at the suggestion. “No!”

“It’s a fereldan thing, Rivaini,” Varric says, amused. “They’re not happy unless they’re knee-deep in mud or snow and it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off an ogre.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Hawke huffs, “the balls of a _golem._ Anyway like I was saying: there’s no snow, and it’s terrible. There’s just that awful snow-rain—"

“Sleet,” Fenris interrupts, but he’s peering at Isabela now, who’s hand of cards is looking decidedly better than it was before.

“Snow-rain, and it just makes you wet and miserable. With snow, at least you can have some fun before you’re wet and miserable.”

“A solid point,” Varric says. It’s not the first time Hawke’s spoken about this, but she usually has Bethany to back her up. Call him a terrible man, but he’s curious to see where this goes without the staunch backup of her sister. 

“Thank you. And with snow-rain… snain?”

“Sleet,” Isabela says with a wide grin on her face. Fenris’ brows begin to furrow as she plays another too good to be true hand of cards. 

“With the snain, all you can do is kick it at people, or get Merrill to freeze it when Sebastian isn’t looking to watch the nobles slide around it, and try to keep their airs. It’s not _fun_.” 

“It’s fun to not treat frostbite at the clinic,” Anders responds, his tone mild. “Also, it’s sleet.”

“Pssh.” Hawke waves her hand dismissively in his direction. “What’s a bit of frostbite when you’ve snow to play in? Much more fun than snain.” 

“People die, Hawke.”

“An unimportant detail.” 

“I don’t think—” Anders is interrupted by the deep booming bark of Lady, and they all turn towards the door as Bodahn’s voice drifts down the hallway. Leandra appears in the doorway, and she takes in the scene with an exasperated, motherly eye. 

“What have I interrupted now?” She gives Hawke a look. “And sit up straight darling, you’ll hurt your back.” 

Hawke grumbles but sits up, and leans her elbows on the table, ignoring Leandra’s second, more sharp look. “Winter here is awful. It’s warm, there’s no snow, and it’s storming constantly. I’m right about this and they’re all being terrible friends who won’t agree with me.” 

Leandra considers Hawke’s words as she sits beside Anders, who discreetly shoves the papers that he was writing on away from him, while simultaneously trying to keep them covered. His quill falls to the ground. 

“There certainly was a charm to the winters back home, wasn’t there? Cold as anything, but it certainly made for memories. Malcolm certainly loved them.” A nostalgic look crosses her face. “You were conceived in the winter, so I’m not surprised you love it so much. It was a brutal one, and Malcolm and I spent quite some time indoors.” 

“ _Mother!_ ” Hawke sputters as she sits up from where she’s steadily started to slump forward. “ _Really?_ ”

Leandra laughs. Anders eyes his quill on the ground. Fenris eyes Isabela and the growing pile of cards. 

Putting another hand of cards down, Isabela cocks a grin at Hawke. “She’s agreeing with you about the winters, sweetcheeks. I thought that was what you wanted?” Sitting back in her chair, she gives a thoughtful look to the weather outside. “It really isn’t all that cozy, is it? I just want to go to bed, and not in a fun way.”

“Isabela, do _not_ encourage her.”

Looking wistful, Leandra nods. “She’s right. I do miss the feeling of being alone in the world, except for you and the other person in the cabin. It set the mood very well.”

Anders starts to lean down while trying to cover the pieces of paper on the table. His fingers crawl across the floor looking for the quill. 

“Maybe you’ll get that again,” Isabela says, and she nods to the bouquet of white lilies on the mantle. “It won’t be the same as rustic fereldan shag in a cabin, but—”

Hawke groans loudly, her head in her hands. 

“—it’ll certainly be nice!” Isabela finishes with a grin on her face. Anders’ hand slips in his quest to grab his quill, and Isabela looks over. “Ooh, writing something saucy, Anders? At Hawke’s house no less!” She leans close and something falls from her shirt, something distinctly card-shaped.

“No!” Anders says, panic in his voice at the same time Fenris goes:

“How have you been _cheating—”_

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> inspired by an irl conversation with a friend who moved to a coastal area. thank u for reading, love u. find me on tumblr and twitter @bogfern


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